White Houses
by chatte blanche
Summary: Drabble, implied Royai with a tint o' lime. Companion piece to Flavor of Life. Read and Review, please? :]


**Disclaimer**: If you read fanfiction, then you know the drill. Go through the disclaimer!authorispoor!Drill

On cold, windy nights, she missed him.

She missed the way he smelled after a long, hard day of slacking, of procrastinating, of putting things off until the last minute. Oddly, no matter what, he always smelled the same; her sharp nose always detected the scent sandalwood on him, mixed in with traces of ashes.

She missed the way he would glance at her as they walked home in the dark, her pale white scarf fluttering in the wind. The way his glances made her cheeks burn a pale red; glances filled with admiration, love, boyish innocence… and lust. She missed how his hands would snake up to her waist by the end of their walk to her (and usually, more often than not, she admitted, his) apartment, despite her gentle urgings of "No, let's not. We'll get caught…"

And she missed how he'd smile, coyly, his lips forming into an impish smile. How, before she knew it, they'd be up the steps to whichever apartment they were staying in for the night. How he would nibble, ever so gently, on her delicate earlobes as her slender fingers fumbled for the right key, and, how, sometimes, it was his hands fumbling, his hands demonstrating an uncharacteristic streak of clumsiness in the normally suave man.

She missed how he'd whisper in her ear, make her cheeks flush an even darker red, make her heart race. And she missed how he laughed, ever so quietly, noting the reaction that he got from her.

And she missed his arms around her, how his arms would guide her closer to him in the darkness of the apartment, jangling keys thrown onto the floor with reckless abandon. How their lips would come together, once, twice, _thrice_, each seeking comfort in the other. How they struggled for dominance, tearing at each other's clothes, and, how, like always, he would win, his fingers running over the scars on her back, his eyes filled with a seemingly insatiable desire as he did so. How his warm breath tickled her cold shoulder as he pushed her further into the mattress, his hands pressing deeper into her palms.

And she missed how her breathing would speed up in time with his, until she gasped out his name, and he would follow her shortly after, his head drooping, gasps emitting from his mouth, the feverish look in his eyes gone.

And she missed how afterwards he permitted her to rest her head on his shoulder, her golden locks spilling onto his chest, her fingers curled into a slight fist.

But these weren't the things she missed the most.

She missed being able to speak to him the most, facades down, his normally loud and raucous voice softened by sleep. How she could call him by his first name, and how he would always respond by placing a feathery-light kiss on her forehead before replying. How the two of them would stay up late, just talking, before she faded off to sleep, happy and content. How she'd wake up in the morning with a gentle kiss and greeting instead of incessant, impersonal beeps.

The blonde sighed and shifted in her empty bed, her sheets rustling. It looked like it would be yet another sleepless night for her, for on cold, windy nights, she missed him.

**_Fin._**

AN: Well, I went on a writing spree! I'm sorry for any errors, as I have a cold at the moment, and am seriously drugged up on cold medicine. Really. x3;

This turned out a bit longer than I expected, but I expect Riza to notice the little details, and Roy the big picture. xD; Also, this particular work complements Roy's piece. Now we figure out what happens before they get in bed. –ahemcoughcough-

Right. So, don't forget to review. And thank you for reading:

I'd like to say a special "Thank You" to all those who reviewed and commented for 'Flavor of Life': Silvery Mist, causmicfire, winglessfairy25, jacksparrow589, OTP, Hoshikothewhitewolf, Kurissyma san Tybalt, The Tiramisu Of Impending Doom, and DarkEmily-nya. Reviews always make a writer feel loved, and happy! x3;

(Piece written to the tune of "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton.)


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